We book-ended Buenos Aires with a visit to San Sebastian. Why? Because our starting point was just a couple of hours away from the Spanish border, and because I’d always wanted to go. Each time it was a flying visit, with just enough time to try some of those famous pintxos places. 

Everyone knows San Seb is a foodie paradise. We were there to eat. 

I’d done my research. I had a list of places to go and what to eat in each one. 

We headed to the first – Borda Berri – it seemed to be closed. Permanently. This set a trend. The Munto Bar was padlocked, Ganbara was closed for holidays until mid December and La Vina – home of the original Basque cheesecake – was boarded up. After an hour of walking in the rain, dodging puddles, waterproofs dripping, we were disheartened and there was only one place left on my list to try – Zeruko, which was supposed to be next door to Bar Nestor. Bar Nestor I’d already discounted. I didn’t think we’d have a hope in hell of getting in there. 

Everything I’d read about Bar Nestor screamed queuing, queuing, and then waiting some more. 

They start taking reservations at midday, and serving at 13.00. Some people suggested waiting from 10.30 to add your name to a list. One couple I read about tried three times to get in before they got lucky. Bar Nestor makes one tortilla at lunch, and one at dinner – that’s twelve portions each sitting and a lot of disappointed people. 

But It looked sort of open. The iron shutter was rolled halfway up and a handful of people milled about inside. I thought I may as well ask – ‘Are you open, and is it possible to eat tortilla?’ ‘Yes’, said the man, ‘Come back at 12.45’, as he wrote my name – ‘Chasi’ on a scrap of paper. We couldn’t believe it. It was already 12.15. 

Funny how things can change at the drop of a hat. I went from down to up, from flat to full-on in a nanosecond. 

When we returned the bar was still empty. There were only 2 tables, one to seat six, and one for two. That displayed a reserved notice which we assumed (optimistically as it turned out) was for us. I asked for drinks at the counter; the waiter looked at the clock, seemed doubtful, then mentally shrugged his shoulders and the wine flowed. We peeled off wet jackets and crammed ourselves into the tiny space. Things were looking up – until there was a chorus of shouts from behind the bar – ‘No, no – it’s reserved’ – and they pointed to the counter. We were to stand behind the tomatoes and the green peppers. Jim grumbled and we waited a bit more. Then Nestor walked out bearing the tortilla and plonked it on the bar in front of us. 

The Best Tortilla Ever?

‘So, that’s what all the fuss is about’, I thought. The tortilla was cut. Not in pie slices, but widthways and divided into small squares. Eggs oozed. Two plates went behind the bar. Others were handed through the front window. ‘Shouldn’t you say something?’, Jim worried, ‘Do they know we’ve ordered, what if it all goes?’ But then it was our turn. Two small pieces of tortilla served with a hunk of bread. It didn’t look much, but this was no dry potato pie. It was unctuous, golden, soft, steaming, and so flavorful. ‘Mmmm’, murmured Jim, no longer worried about standing up at the bar. 

Bar Nestor breathed conviviality and camaraderie. 

By now the place was packed. People lined the bar and there was a lot of shouting and shaking of hands. The tortilla was long gone, but there were slivers of anchovy laced with green pepper, glistening in oil, and huge steaks weighed on a scale. There were hanging hams and sausages and a couple of cheeses appeared seemingly from nowhere. ‘You want cheese?’, said one of the bar guys, as he saw me point it out to Jim, so we went for it, just to prolong the moment. 

Behind the bar, models of the Rialto Bridge jostled for space with the death mask of Tutankhamun, Tower Bridge, and Milan cathedral. On the wall behind us, there were football shirts, family photos – the two brothers dressed as the Marx Brothers, and a montage of ‘Nestor and friends’ (Sophia Loren, John Wayne, and the Rat Pack). It was a celebration of self, family and good times. 

We never did find Zeruko, but in that little piece of tortilla we found a whole lot more than we bargained for. 

On our return visit there was just one thing on my mind.

In 1990, Santiago Rivera created the Burnt Basque Cheesecake at La Vina. A self-taught cook, spurred on by passion, he tested and perfected his recipe, on his days off, in his parents’ cafe. It contains only four ingredients and is so low-fuss to make, it’s almost unbelievable. 

Burnt Basque Cheesecake. The pudding that broke the internet. 

It’s a strange star. Its top, black and singed, gives it the appearance of a bad mistake; its insides are wibbly-wobbly. But we could barely get through the door at La Vina. In a place the size of a postage stamp, people stood three deep at the counter juggling cups of coffee and plates of pudding. A young man pushed a pram through the chaos, clearing a path like he was parting the Red Sea. 

Cheesecakes were almost as numerous as the clientele. They adorned glass cases and lined shelves, still encased in spring-form tins and surrounded by scrunched greaseproof paper. 

Daunted, unable to move almost, we were about to retreat, when a kind couple indicated that Jim should sit at their table. Somehow I managed to order. Service was brisk and efficient and the no-fuss, no-garnish cheesecake was handed over the counter, adorned only by a fork. Two luke-warm cups of coffee followed. I wanted to like it. But I cannot say that I did. The cheesecake itself was OK. For me it could have been more caramelised, a little firmer. The middle ran like a river over my plate. It’s just a question of taste. 

The biggest disappointment was the atmosphere, not the cake itself. Dessert is a thing to be savored, lingered over. This was a smash and grab raid. What had been charming in Bar Nestor was rushed and uncomfortable in La Vina. 

A tale of two pintxos. 

Practical Stuff. 

Bar Nestor. Arrandegi Kalea 11. Open Tues-Sat 13.00-15.30 & 20.00-22.30. Sun 13.00-15.00. Mon closed.

La Vina. 31 de Agosto Kalea. Closed Mon. Every other day open 11.00-15.30 & 19.00-22.45